


Contingency Plans

by anonymous_sibyl



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-11
Updated: 2007-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_sibyl/pseuds/anonymous_sibyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing crazier and more dangerous than a spy who no longer exists to his government is a former IRA operative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contingency Plans

**Author's Note:**

> This work is licensed under a [Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/). None of the media or characters written about in my fanfiction belong to me and I make no profit from these works. 

And that is why you aren't supposed to get close to anyone. "That! Right there, Fi! Right there!"

"Right where, Michael?"

I'm pointing at her bullet wound, sweeping my hand to take in the pile of bandages and the bloody towel at her feet, and she asks me right where. The only thing crazier and more dangerous than a spy who no longer exists to his government is a former IRA operative.

"She's fine, Mike. Been shot before." Sam shrugs and his shirt momentarily blinds me. I hope it blinds anyone who might be looking in the window, too. "We all have."

He's right, we all have. He uses his scars to pick up women, Fi believes hers are a badge of honor, and I, like any good spy who wants to live longer than a day in the field, have so far avoided thinking of mine at all.

Fi stands up and stretches, holding her wounded arm by her side and waving her other in the air. The bandage is really white against that tan she's built up, and the strap of her bra is brushing against it where it's slipped down her arm.

"Since when do you wear a bra?" Sam asks her.

"Out."

"C'mon, Mike, I'm just asking what we were both thinking."

"Out." Nobody would really notice if I killed him. The FBI might miss him for a few minutes, but in the long run they wouldn't care. "Now."

"Fine. I've got to get the car washed anyway."

Fi giggles to herself after she makes a whip-cracking noise.

"Don't knock it," he says. "I can't help it if I'm irresistible."

"Out."

This is why you don't get involved. This is why you don't let people in. This, the way that I want to punch Sam in the mouth for looking at Fi's bra, and the way I want to pick her up and hold her until her wound is healed, is why.

Crazy. I'm crazy.

When you're a spy you can't get close to anyone. You have to lie, you have to tell them you are someone you aren't, and you can never really love them because the moment you do, someone else knows, and once someone else knows, they're in danger.

Someone else knows.

Fi's in danger.

I screwed up.

"Well, you aren't half pathetic."

Oh, that's nice. Ladies and gentlemen, the woman I love. "You are the only person in the world who is less functional than me."

"I'm plenty functional!"

"Mhm." This is the stupidest thing I've done since the time I took a bomb away from a PMS-ing terrorist. Wait, that was Fi. This is the stupidest thing I have ever done. "Tell me you love me, Fi."

"Why in the hell would I want to do that?"

"Because you do."

"Are you mad?"

"Probably." I must be slipping because she stops being angry with me and gets this look like I'm about to fall over. It's probably the same way I've been looking at her. It's the way Fi and I never look at each other, like we care, like it's obvious we give a damn what happens. "Definitely."

"Well, fuck."

Her accent slips back in when she says that and I know I'm screwed. Fi's upset. Fucking Fiona, the Morrigan herself, is worried. Fucking hell, she's worried about me. "Don't."

She crosses her arms over her chest, winces when the movement pulls on her wound.

That's it. Time to act like a grown-up spy before she hurts herself more. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I don't?" I love it when she raises her eyebrows and her voice goes hot like that. Usually it means she's about to kick my ass, and that normally means we're about to have sex. Good sex. "Is that how you want this to go, Michael?"

"Yes?"

"Really."

"No?"

"I see."

"Well, god damn it, Fi! What the hell do you want from me?"

"Tell me you love me, Michael," she mimics.

My Fiona, she's a stone bitch. I think it's endearing. I couldn't be crazier. "Fiona. You know I…" I've got nothing. I've been trained to give nothing away, show no emotion, betray no fear, no happiness. Anger is acceptable, anger is something you can channel and use. Anger helps you get through. "What the hell, Fi! You got shot!"

"That I did." She pokes at the bandage and I swear she's preening. "Just a flesh wound, though. Quite disappointing."

I love this woman. I love her beyond reason and it's getting into everything, surrounding my whole life and changing me. I'm going to get her killed. I'm going to get myself killed.

"Oh, god." My head hurts. "I am a very bad spy."

"That is not true," she protests. "You were a very good spy." She scratches her fingernails up and down my arm, presses her hand flat to my chest. "Such a good spy that I never suspected you were going to leave me."

And there it is, the knife to my heart. "You wound me, woman." Cover it up with humor. That's almost as useful as anger, and I'm very good at using things to pretend I'm whole.

"Fuck you, Michael Westen. Fuck you sideways."

I shrug. I guess she could lie there and rest her arm while I do most of the moving around. It wouldn't be as much fun as it usually is, but it could work. I look up from pondering positions and realize I've gone way too far and she's going to kick my ass, but not in the good foreplay way.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Her tone could freeze water.

"For getting you shot."

"Well." She sighs. "I was aiming for being a manipulative little boy, but that'll do."

When you're a spy you learn manipulation on day one or you don't survive. Making people believe I'm someone I'm not or making them think it's their idea to do what I want them to do is sometimes the only way I stay alive. I don't know why I do it with Fi. Maybe it's habit. Maybe it's fear.

Sometimes I wonder if she does it with me.

That's a path I'm not going down tonight. I let Fiona in and it's too late to push her out. She's hurt and it's my fault, so all I can do now is protect her in every way I can.

"Here." I hand her a bottle of painkillers and hope like hell she'll take them instead of being her usual stubborn self. "You should get some rest."

Ten minutes later we're in bed and I'm running all the what-ifs through my head, trying to plan for every contingency, when Fi curls up next to me and rests her head on my chest.

"I'm a big girl, Michael. And you're a good spy." She stretches up to kiss my cheek. "We'll be fine."

They never taught me how to plan for fine. I'm so screwed.


End file.
